


after the afterparty

by novoaa1



Category: Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020), DCU
Genre: Alcohol, Banter, F/F, Harley being Harley, Just gals bein pals, POV Helena Bertinelli, Useless Lesbian Helena Bertinelli, after the afterparty.. sort of?, cute moments, like right after, post-Birds of Prey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:08:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22761466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novoaa1/pseuds/novoaa1
Summary: The Canary had let loose a delighted snort at that, as if she found the whole thing somehow laughable.(Which itwasn’t, to be clear—laughable, that is.)“Are y'all seeing this shit?” she’d turned to ask the rest of them, earning a giddy squeal from Harley and a bemused scoff from Montoya even whilst Helena remained stock still in place, dutifully blinding herself with one hand. “Absolutelyadorable.”“Shutup,” Helena had hissed back more out of instinct than anything else, though she'd been loathe to note that her tone was markedly devoid of any real anger.(And if Helena had felt her cheeks flush ever so slightly beneath her palm at the Canary’s words, she certainly didn’t let on.)Or: Sionis falls. The rest of them remain.
Relationships: Cassandra Cain & Dinah Lance, Helena Bertinelli & Cassandra Cain, Helena Bertinelli & Dinah Lance & Harleen Quinzel & Renee Montoya, Helena Bertinelli/Dinah Lance
Comments: 39
Kudos: 699





	after the afterparty

**Author's Note:**

> title's from charli xcx's song 
> 
> i been listening to 'white mercedes' by her on repeat for daaaays now and it absolutely SLAPS 10/10 would recommend
> 
> anyway i went to see birds of prey and it also slapped and it's all i'm gonna be talking about for hte next 20394235754893q75 days so

Honestly, Helena isn’t all that clear herself on how exactly she got here: 2:00am in Gotham city, laid up in an obscenely lavish penthouse (the very same one formerly belonging to one Roman Sionis) with Renee Montoya, Dinah Lance, and Harley Quinn, of all people. 

(That Cassandra Cain kid is just down the hall, sleeping off the sheer craziness of the past couple days in one of about fifty available guest rooms in the building. Someone gets up to go check on her every half-hour or so like clockwork, though none of them quite acknowledge that it’s happening—at least, not verbally. 

She—the kid, that is—never gave Helena back that purple toy car of hers, though Helena’s pretty sure she caught a glimpse of it shoved in the back pocket of the kid’s cutoff jean shorts when she was running off earlier to go check out her new digs, so she knows it isn’t lost or anything.

Still, Helena's surprised to find that she doesn’t quite mind either way.)

She’s still in her tight leather get-up from earlier, stray lacerations littering her exposed arms, dried blood crusting over every shallow cut and stinging abrasion. 

The others remain much the same: dressed in the same battle-worn garments while they sit and drink and reminisce upon it all—well, sans Harley, that is, though that’s not much of a surprise to anyone (even Helena, who’s known her for less than half a day now).

No, Harley wasted absolutely no time in stripping herself bare the very moment they arrived back at Sionis’s place (Cassandra having excused herself to go find the bathroom mere seconds earlier, leaving the rest of them to deal with… _that_ ): shrugging either strap of her gold diamond-patterned overalls off pale shoulders and letting the obnoxious garment fall into a crumpled pile on the floor, leaving her chalk-white heavily-tattooed figure naked save for a loud bright-pink sports brassiere and a tiny leopard-printed honest-to-God _thong_ —

(Helena’s sure she’s never clamped a hand over her eyes so fucking fast in her whole entire _life_.)

The Canary had let loose a delighted snort at that, like she found Helena’s reticence to view a random woman’s near-naked body in all its feminine glory somehow laughable.

(Which it _wasn’t_ , to be clear—laughable, that is.) 

“Are y'all seeing this shit?” she’d turned to ask the rest of them, earning a giddy squeal from Harley and a bemused scoff from Montoya even whilst Helena remained stock still in place, dutifully blinding herself with one hand. “Absolutely _adorable_.”

“Shut _up_ ,” Helena had hissed back more out of instinct than anything else, though she'd been loathe to note that her tone was markedly devoid of any real anger.

(And if Helena had felt her cheeks flush ever so slightly beneath her palm at the Canary’s words, she certainly didn’t let on.)

“Awe, gu-uyssss,” Harley had reasoned chidingly in that lazy sing-song tone of hers, “don’t tease! I wish more fellas these days was polite like her.”

“Hey, I _said_ it was cute!” 

“Jesus, Harley,” Montoya had lamented finally, "just put some clothes on before the poor woman has an aneurysm.”

“Fine,” Harley had conceded (sounding very much like a scolded child). A split second later, Helena’s attuned ears picked up on the tell-tale rustling of clothing paired with a string of muffled curses, until— “Ta-da! All better.”

A moment passed in silence—Helena hadn’t dared move an inch. 

“Is she just gonna stay like that?” Harley stage-whispered, like Helena couldn’t hear her. “D’ya think I traumatized her for life?”

“You? Traumatizing _her_ for life?” Montoya had countered incredulously (though, really, Helena had to admit—she _did_ have a point). “Oh, so you got _jokes_ now, too—"

“C’mon, gorgeous, you can look now,” came Dinah’s melodious voice, saturated in righteous bemusement (though tinged with a sort of alluring sincerity that worked to sway Helena a hell of a lot more than she’d have liked to admit). “Everyone’s decent.”

“You’re all a bunch of assholes,” she’d grumbled as she finally lowered her hand, brows furrowed and jaw clenched in a show of melodramatic ire. 

The rest of them had just laughed, like she’d just cracked an especially funny joke. 

(For a moment, Helena had wondered if this was what friendship felt like—teasing and name-calling and self-indulgent banter built atop a foundation comprised purely of costly understanding, of a sort of fellowship unlike any Helena had ever known before.

Christ—it seemed the whole "teamwork" thing was turning her into a _fucking_ sap.)

And, now… well, now they're _here_ : passing a bottle of obscenely expensive wine (formerly Sionis’s, obviously) ‘round the circle, throwing out half-truths and macabre jokes and fragments of treasured secrets like they’re stones rather than weapons… which is new, of course, and terrifying and strange and somehow _pleasant_ in a way— 

But, that’s not the most baffling part—no, that comes approximately nine minutes earlier, when a giggling Dinah Lance gets up to fetch some water for herself and the rest of them. She returns moments later on unsteady feet with water-filled glass tumblers in hand (which she just barely manages to set atop the polished wooden surface of the coffee table without spilling), only to pass by her previous spot on the sofa besides Harley and collapse squarely atop Helena’s lap instead like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

And so, here they sit—the tipsy Canary slouched sideways across her lap and laughing heartily at an apparently humorous story Harley’s midway through telling, a single well-toned bronze arm slung lazily around Helena’s broad shoulders whilst Helena places her own awkwardly around Dinah’s hips to secure her (though loosely enough that she can flee any time she desires), utterly terrified to cross a boundary even as her brain struggles to come to terms with exactly what’s happening here. 

The intoxicating scent of her fills Helena’s nostrils like revitalizing springtime, all flowery pollen and vernal winds and dewy leaves beneath a violet dawn—and every time she laughs it’s like magic, the kind Helena thinks people will spend their whole lives in search of. 

Suddenly, she doesn’t care about the knowing look Montoya’s giving her or the way Harley’s wiggling her brows goofily like she knows something Helena doesn’t—no, all she can see is Dinah: the angular lines of her jaw, that gorgeous dimple in her cheek, the triangular studs lining her ear that only seem to make the chestnut brown of her catlike eyes all the more breathtaking. 

God, she’s a sight to behold.

(Helena wonders if maybe she could ask the Canar— _Dinah_ —out to… coffee, or drinks, or whatever people are supposed to do when they think someone else is pretty and they want to talk to them more and maybe kiss their face and hold their hand and do all of those weird cute little things you’re supposed to do when you’re with someone you like who likes you right back.

She wonders if Dinah would say yes.

She thinks it’d be pretty fucking cool if she did.)

— —

**Author's Note:**

> let me know what you thought?
> 
> (my [tumblr](https://psyches.co.vu/) or just search @ultralightdumbass to come find me there!)


End file.
